February 16, 2011

Should've followed through on that threat to mix single malt and Ben & Jerry's.

You don't stop.

There, as another threat to just close my eyes.

I play by the seat of my pants.I believe in luck and blind luck and people that jump out of planes.

He believes the DH is ruining the game and something about long kisses.

I've heard of this thing you call history.I've heard of gossip.I've heard or uprisings and revolutions and this thing called Twitter.

I've heard of Egypt and Tunisia and also Baton Rouge and Key Largo and Plachman's Parrish and Fresno and Sin City.Look at them all line up like that.I could keep on.

Roll them up, knock them down, spell them right or wrong, say horrible things about them, roll them around on your tongue, dream about them, buy tickets to get to them, rent cars in them and rooms and pay taxes on sundry purchases.

Bodies crawl across them by the thousands;Heads peek around thresholds;Weights press down.People look up at a sudden noise.

Don't stop when you feel it in your ears and across your eyelids.Don't stop when you Nashville or Philly-Sunday-morning.Don't stop when they say you've had enough, because youYou, sir or ma'am, are the only one who really knows.

Now get back in there, they are waiting for your entertainments.Can't you hear their teeth?

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Jamie is a co-director of Narrow House, bass player for Sweatpants (we'll rise again!), and pretty serious about fish tacos. He lives in Baltimore and works in DC at Threespot.
This is how he gets his Facebook on.